


Drifting

by sometimesthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, It's minor, M/M, Minor Character Death, So this is depressing, brief mentions of past self-harm, sad!harry, this is NOT a Zarry fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimesthestars/pseuds/sometimesthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't even know how to summarize this without ruining the story.<br/>So... an excerpt will do. </p>
<p>"He was sweating and shaking. It's just that it happened only a few hours ago and he's pretty sure no one really understands. And he's got this room all to himself even though he doesn't really want to be alone right now, or ever again, really."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting on here. Let me know what you think so far. Ugh I'm just gonna hit post before I chicken out.

He was sweating and shaking. It's just that it happened only a few hours ago and he's pretty sure no one really understands. And he's got this room all to himself even though he doesn't really want to be alone right now, or ever again, really. It doesn't really matter though, because he decided to stay in New York with Lou while the rest of the boys decided to go back to London for their short break between shows. He was alone anyways.

It's been just a couple days and he's already managed to lose himself without his four anchors. That's what he thinks they are, anchors. Sometimes people comment that they don't seem as close as they used to be. That's definitely not it. It's just that they've grown up a bit and a bit quickly. They are still his anchors. One attached to each of his four long limbs, grounding him. It's a confusing comparison but his anchors, the boys, they make him feel secure in his drowning. It's like he's in too deep, but he's got something holding him in place, keeping him secure. That way he knows that even though he's drowning, he's got his four best friends with him and he feels an overwhelming and baffling sense of security in spite of the knowledge that he can't breathe. He feels like he's tied down to love and understanding, and even though he can't breathe, he knows he's not going to float off into the abyss- the dark unknown of the ocean or life or however he's trying to make sense of this feeling. The feeling of being underwater, weightless without gravity, but still falling and being pulled deeper by something too heavy and dense to even comprehend.

But right now he's feeling a different kind of drowning and the undertow is nearly dragging him into the abyss and his four anchors are on the other side of the ocean and he's holding onto rocks and dirt and his last shred of sanity to keep from dropping off the deep end. And it's too much for him to keep up with all of these metaphors and similes because his mind is racing a mile a minute, and he feels like he isn't breathing but he feels like his chest is heaving, and because how are you supposed to describe how you feel when you don't even know in the first place?

Maybe he should call someone. He's thinking again. Somewhere along the line he must have taken a deep breath. But it's not very helpful when what's the solution to his problem is the reason he has a problem in the first place. And it's a vicious cycle. He starts thinking and his mind starts racing and he forgets to breath and he's breathing too much but not enough and yeah, this is what drowning alone feels like. But he's thinking again, and that's never a good thing.

_I should call someone_. It's still lingering in his mind but like the pesky brat he is, he's always asking why, and like the self-conscious teenager with little-to-no self-esteem at this point in the day, at this point in his life, he's listing all the reasons why he should wallow in his misery alone. He comes up with some convincing arguments, but what wins in the end is a messed up train wreck of logic that only one Harry Styles could ever really come up with while simultaneously believing it.

This is why it's bad when he's thinking, but now he's a bit obsessed and his mind is jumping to conclusions so quickly, he doesn't even have time to appraise the merits of his argument. He's already convinced himself that everything that happened a few hours previous was his fault, and because it was his fault, he doesn't deserve any comforting, he only deserves the pain in his chest that he can’t figure out if it's from his lungs or his heart or God or the fact that he's been clawing at himself for the past 20 minutes.

He's crawling. He's crawling out of bed and he tries for a moment to stand up, but he's shaking. He's forgotten that his anchors aren't around to secure him to the ground. So instead, he falls. He crawls to the bathroom, and grabs onto the sink's countertop and manages to pull himself up despite his shaking arms, despite the fact that he feels weak all over- and he's sure that he's confusing his actual strength with his currently weak resolve.

Looking into the mirror helps, but it also hurts just as much, because he can see himself and it grounds him a bit-- he knows he's not falling over any edges that he's imagined-- but can also see himself, which is a problem. He reaches up and rubs gently at the bruise blossoming around his temple and he's careful to avoid the seven stitches in the center, and even though he's barely applying pressure he feels the pain, and again he's stuck trying to figure out if it's the pain in chest, or if it's his physical injury, and he doesn't like all of this guessing, so he decides to figure it out sooner. He presses harder on his injury, and then even harder. And yeah, that's the physical pain he's feeling, and oh, he can't feel the pain in his chest over the pain he's inflicting upon his recent injury. He likes being sure of where the pain is coming from, and at the same time it's twisted because he likes that he's still physically hurting from the events of the day, it's not just mental or emotional or whatever this other pain is. So he keeps pressing until tears well up in his eyes, and it's at that point he looks at himself in the mirror.

It's at that point he realizes what he's doing. He stops. He doesn't stop because it's a new and unfamiliar thing he's doing-- hurting himself. He doesn't stop because he doesn't like it. He doesn't stop because he's afraid of what it might lead to next. This is the first time he's thought about hurting himself since the band, since he had four other boys relying on him, and since he became a role model to millions of young fans. He knows he can't get away with it, no matter how much he wants it. He doesn't want his fans to see it, he doesn't want to be the reason a kid thinks it's okay. But he backtracks, because he's still thinking about how badly he wants it. This is why he doesn't think, because here comes another train wreck of logic.

He's still thinking too fast to really concentrate on the merits of his mind's argument, though he does take a second to wonder if it's normal to hate yourself this much. He doesn't linger on it. He's still thinking about how much he wants to hurt himself again, and now he's decided that he doesn't deserve that release. It's the same reason he didn't allow himself to call anyone: everything that happened was his fault. He is almost laughing that he's come to the conclusion that he's guilty enough to not deserve hurting himself, but again he decides not to linger on this. He isn't going hurt anyone again. This means no release of his emotions whether it be a slice to the skin or a phone call to a friend, or anything else that he deems himself unworthy of in future situations.

And he's decided. Harry Styles was never going to let anyone suffer because of him again.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know how to summarize this without ruining the story.  
> So... an excerpt will do.
> 
> "He was sweating and shaking. It's just that it happened only a few hours ago and he's pretty sure no one really understands. And he's got this room all to himself even though he doesn't really want to be alone right now, or ever again, really."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

He was walking and smiling. It was evening and it was warm and he was alone. He feels stupid now that he looks back on it, but it seemed like such a nice idea at the time. He was in New York enjoying dinner in the way that only a celebrity could, but after a couple of beers less-than-good ideas began looking a lot better, and a couple of blocks away there was this cute little shop with a cute little pair of shoes he thought would look the cutest on Lux.

He could only think of her little smile and little hugs after Uncle Harry puts the little pink shoes on her little feet and swings her around. So, he's smiling as he tells everyone he's going out back for cigarette and no one questions the fact that he doesn't even smoke. He turns down the alley and if he remembers correctly, it's a left at this next corner and then about another block past that.

It's dark and there's no crowd out front, so he walks down the street without a worry, and a stupid smile plastered to his face. And now that he's thinking about it, he is screaming at his naïve and ignorant past self and screaming. Turn around. Look to your left. Look behind you. Then he would have seen either the man in the alley eyeing him, or the man across the street eyeing him. And why did he think he didn't need a security guard today? He's still Harry Styles to that man with the camera, and he's still a skinny and oblivious teenager to that man in the alley.

And he's still walking with a smile and he's oblivious to everything but a fucking pair of pink light-up shoes. He thinks now that maybe he deserved this then. Maybe it was instant karma for being so stupid.

Then there's a shaky arm on his bicep yanking him towards an alleyway and it's dark so he's protected from his fans, but then he realizes that he's not protected from this. This man who looks a little drug-addled, and looks a little more desperate than that. He's cornering Harry with a pistol in one hand, pressed to Harry's temple, and the other hand on Harry's bicep, shoving him into the wall.

And then Harry hears it. This part he wants to block from his memory, but he can't get the voice out of his head. It keeps him up at night, echoing through his mind, and wakes him up in the morning, like some kind of deranged and sick alarm clock that wants to wake him up with the memory or the most horrific thing that's ever happened to him. _Harry. Harry. Harry, where are you going?_ The voice is unfamiliar and distant, but it's nearing with every word. He laughs at the question, but in a sad way because if he tried hard enough he could probably figure out something profound about his life by coming up with the answer. But no, really, he was just going to buy a pair of pink shoes.

Then in his ear he hears a harsher, and closer question. _Do you have any money?_ He laughs at this question too, in a sad way because he would have given this man every penny to his name if that meant he could have peace in his mind ever again. He laughs because how in the hell did this man get a gun, but then he realizes that he's probably not the first person this guy has stolen from. He doesn't linger on it.

He moves for his wallet, desperate to get out of the situation as quickly as possible. Then it's there. He's reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. His mind is constantly playing this back so slowly. Just to torture him. Just so he can relive this moment constantly. It's like this moment is on loop in his mind. He could be in the middle of an interview, in the middle of a solo, or chatting with Niall, and all he sees is this moment. Forever. It's only a couple of seconds.

 _Harry. What_ \-- Then there's a gunshot, ringing in his ears. Then, he's on the ground.

If he were to recount the events he would say he was walking down the street and a paparazzo and a mugger both spotted him. He was pulled into the alley and held at gunpoint. The pap followed him into the alley asking stupid questions about what he had for dinner and if he was dating that blond model. The pap was just a few moments early for his big scoop on Harry Styles going to buy pink sneakers. The pap was just on time to scare a drug-addled mugger with a camera and loud questions. Maybe it was the man's shaking hands, jonesing for a fix of whatever he could find that night, maybe it was a twitch, but probably he was panicking. No matter what the reason, the trigger was pulled and the shot was fired and that day, a man lost his life and Harry Styles lost his wallet along with most of his sanity.

And he's decided. If Harry had known then how he would feel in the future, he kind of would have wished that the mugger would have shot him next. Alas, Harry blinked and woke up on stretcher.

 _Harry. Harry. Can you hear me?_ To this day, he's still trying to figure out if that was the paramedic or the dead man resting on his conscious. Maybe when the gunman pistol whipped him, he knocked something loose or caused some mild brain damage. He thinks that would explain so much, but the doctor who stitched him up said that there was nothing to worry about, and Harry thinks now that the doctor couldn't have been any more wrong.

The police asked him a few questions. He makes his testimony about walking to buy pink shoes and this guy calling out his name. It doesn't even matter what Harry says though because sickeningly enough, it's all on the dead man's camera. The police assure him that the story won't get out, and he finds solace in the fact that the video camera detailing his nightmare is soundly locked away, collecting dust in an evidence room.

It's an open investigation because the gunman hasn't been caught, but it doesn't seem like much of a concern to anyone really. Some nameless guy in a dark alley way. There's nothing to go on and they all know this, but the officers still assure that they will do all they can.

He waits for the taxi to pick him up at the hospital and all he can think about is how much he doesn't want this story to get out and how he's not going to say anything to anyone until he comes up with a proper lie about his face. Then he realizes that people at the restaurant are going to wonder where he went. He checks his phone. He has five text messages. His mother, Zayn, Lou, and two random numbers he can only assume are fans who found his number somehow. There's no one who was actually at the dinner and he finds himself equal parts depressed and relieved about that.

The taxi ride is long. Almost too long, and he realizes he never told the driver where to go and he feels equal parts stupid and indifferent. He looks at the fare and it's nearing 50 dollars. He doesn't care, but he realizes he doesn’t have his wallet either. So he lets the driver continue his aimless tour of Manhattan. Harry decides he's going to have to call someone for money, but first he has to come up with a story to go along with his head injury. He runs the fare up another 20 before he tells the driver the name of his hotel. Then he calls Cal to bring him 80 bucks down to the back entrance of the hotel because he can't deal with fans seeing his head right now and he knows Cal won't bother him too much or call him out on a bad lie.

So when Harry spots Cal, he decides to climb out of the taxi like a drunken idiot. He can deal with people thinking he's young and stupid with fame, but he can't deal with anyone actually knowing about what happened.

Later on, when the events finally settle and he thinks too much, he decides that what he's hiding from everyone is how he killed a man. He doesn't question the logic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Just a prologue. Next chapter goes into what exactly happened. Let me know if I should continue! Maybe I will post the next chapter later tonight. I don't know.


End file.
